


wishing, wanting, yours for the taking

by pr1nc3ssp34ch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Camaro Makeouts, Cooking?, Domestic, Embarrassing Parental Moment, First Date, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, SMOOTH DEREK, Sloppy Makeouts, i enjoy that there's already a tag for that one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-13 20:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pr1nc3ssp34ch/pseuds/pr1nc3ssp34ch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"<a href="http://ss-tiles.tumblr.com">ss-tiles:</a> #mostly i want derek to take stiles on a date #like a really cliche one #and to be a gentleman #and sloppy makeouts in the camaro afterwards"</p><p>Ask and you shall receive, my lovely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wishing, wanting, yours for the taking

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS RACHEL'S 18th BIRTHDAY/GRADUATION PRESENT. WOOH.
> 
> WOOOOOH.
> 
> It's really bad though. Sorry Rachelmuffin. I tried. 
> 
> Title Lyrics: Check Yes Juliet - We The Kings.

"Scott, do you think Derek would be the type to play a practical joke?"

 

Scott sits up from where he's been lounging on the couch, pausing the game so he can raise an eyebrow in Stiles' direction. "I don't think Derek has a sense of humor. Why?"

 

Stiles looks back down at his phone. The text is still open. It has been since last night.

 

**From: Alfalfa**

_I'm picking you up at 7. Dress nice._

 

You see, when Derek came into his room last night and asked him on a date, Stiles may or may not have been so shocked he squeaked something that might have  _resembled_ a yes. In some language. One that Derek was apparently privy to. 

 

And then, about fifteen minutes later, Derek had texted him.  _I'm picking you up at 7. Dress nice._

 

Dress nice. What the hell does he even have to wear that would be nice? He's an eighteen year old boy about to graduate from high school who didn't even end up going to prom. He has like... one nice shirt. Somewhere. Maybe a tie.

 

Scott is now leaning over his shoulder, because while Stiles had been distracted, Scott decided to check for himself. "Is that from Derek? Where are you going? Why would you need to - oh my god, are you going on a  _date?_ "

 

He sounds... gleeful.

 

It's awful.

 

"I don't know! I have no idea how this happened. Why is this happening? Oh my god, Scott, I don't  _have_ anything nice. What am I going to do?"

 

Scott, for all of his hangups, can occasionally be a good friend. Which is why he bats his eyelashes solemnly and says, "Follow me." The if you want to live is implied somewhere in there, Stiles  _knows_ it.

 

* * *

 

At 6:59, Stiles is pacing nervously in front of the doorway. Scott left an hour ago with a ruffle of his hair - which they'd declared hopeless - and a straightening of his collar, calling 'be safe!' over his shoulder. Like he hadn't already informed Stiles of how awesome it was that he'd never have to worry about STDs and  _oh god why is Stiles thinking about anything STD capable with Derek why_ why?

 

A sharp knock almost makes Stiles  _knock over_ the coffee table, and he scrambles to the door, noting that Derek is annoyingly on time. Can a person be annoyingly on time, or is he just projecting his desperate need to hate this date?

 

Results not in.

 

Stiles is still holding out hope when he gets to the door, but by the time it's open he's lost himself entirely. Mouth hanging open, heartbeat elevating, it's insanity. Horrible. He - he  _hates_ it, he does, Derek shouldn't be allowed to wear button downs at all, ever, or he should - at least do all the buttons, dear god, why - would you - and the jeans, they're  _sin._ Carnal. Sin. It's horrible. Stiles is going to lodge a formal complaint. Start a protest.

 

As soon as he can quit staring like a ten year old girl at a Justin Bieber concert, that is.

 

"Der - ek," he chokes out, like he's fumbling with more than one syllable. Derrek  _smiles,_ too, like, what, Stiles has never seen him smile like that in his  _life,_ what is this. It's not even fake it's - real, Stiles made Derek grin like something out of a rom-com, is this his life? Is this just fantasy?

 

"Hey, Stiles." Has Derek's voice always been so warm? He can't remember. Stiles' throat is dry, he's - he's really not liking this, at all, it's -  _deadly,_ is what it is -

 

"Ready?"

 

He squeaks.

 

Again.

 

* * *

 

"Where to, exactly?" Stiles asks, slinking into the Camaro and trying not to moan because Derek never lets him in the Camaro, okay. That's like, a pack thing, or a life or death thing. The fact that he brought it actually worries Stiles a second before he remembers that this is a date, and for all that he's confused by Derek wanting a date with him at all, he does generally trust the dude not to murder him brutally in a ditch or something.

 

Maybe gore him during a movie. It's still a sore subject.

 

"You'll see," Derek says ominously, but the corners of his mouth are curved up in this tiny smile, like he knows and he can't wait to see Stiles' reaction. Like he's getting a kick out of this. 

 

Holy shit, Derek Hale is having fun.

 

Without violence or intimidation.

 

It's impressive, is all Stiles really means to say.

 

"I hate surprises," he grumbles, and Derek both rolls his eyes and smirks again like a father entertaining an impatient child. Except, you know, a million times more sensual. Like fond exasperation mixed with bedroom eyes. Stiles is very... he's chastened, obviously, of course. Learning his lesson. 

 

"You wont have to wait long - I don't see the point in telling you now," he shrugs, and all Stiles can really do at that is sigh. It's so... it's weird, very weird. When you're a teenager your idea of a date is like... movies. Maybe cheap diner food. Not - whatever the hell it is they're doing right now.

 

It dawns on Stiles that Derek is an adult. That's not to say that Stiles hasn't grown up, especially with the whole saving people, killing things, werewolf shtick, but Derek is over  _twenty,_ he... knows what he's doing. Has probably dated before. Knows what he wants and how to get it.

 

That should be less hot and more intimidating, right?

 

"We're here," Derek interrupts his thoughts, and Stiles has to blink back into focus. This - has to be -

 

"You brought me to your  _loft?_ "

 

The smirk on Derek's face is evident. "I thought you wanted to see it," he says innocently, and Stiles gawks at him. 

 

"You wont even let  _Scott_ into your loft."

 

Derek is getting out of the car now, and in a flash he's opening Stiles' door for him. Like he's a  _gentleman,_ not some ruffian who spent weeks of his life, maybe even months, living in the burnt out shell of what was once his family home and bathing in the god damn river. It's unsettling and very, very smooth.

 

"I don't want to date Scott," is what Derek throws back, and really he shouldn't say that so close to Stiles' face before smirking and walking away. 

 

Because it does...  _things,_ to him. Things Derek can probably  _sense._

 

The low chuckle from ahead is enough to spur Stiles into hurrying to catch up.

 

* * *

 

Dating Derek is... pretty nice, actually. He's decked out the loft with a _sweet_ natural wood table, and there's a trio of low candles in the middle. Derek cooks while Stiles sits on the counter and plays taste-tester, and it's... sort of cute.  _Domestic,_ actually. 

 

Having Derek's fingers in his mouth with the bacon is just a bonus.

 

He makes fresh [Pasta Carbonara](http://www.inspiredtaste.net/11316/pasta-carbonara-recipe/) which Stiles has never had before in his  _life,_ but Derek tells him is actually pretty simple compared to the stuff he would make if they had all the time in the world. Apparently, Derek did the cooking at home.

 

Stiles doesn't really want to think about what that might mean.

 

Conversation also flows surprisingly well. Stiles is used to the one steamrolling everyone else in the conversation, not so much because he loves talking but because he can always think of something to say instead of letting the conversation fall flat. Derek, he notices, is just as adept at that, and can go toe to toe with him in sarcasm, and overpowers him with his charm.

 

It's completely unsettling to have Derek act normally. He's not sure what kind of spell this is, but it has to be magic, because this? These things don't happen to people like Stiles.

 

 _Dashing_ isn't a word he'd have ever thought to describe anyone he dated with.

 

Derek's pretty dashing, though, if he thinks about it.

 

* * *

 

Stiles is nervous. He's - this is - okay, it's fine, he's just in Derek's really sweet Camaro getting a ride home from a date that ran late enough into the night that the moon is out and shining. Because he lost track of time amidst the laughter and talking and general swooning he was doing.

 

He feels very swept off his feet. If he were standing it would be shaky at best. 

 

Derek can probably smell it. From what Scott says, he can smell most emotions, but has a hard time parsing the differences. Derek, though - Derek, he's sure, will know everything. He can scent his nerves, his excitement, hear his toe tapping against the car floor and his breathing go shallow. 

 

Dates end with one thing in the movies, don't they? They have to kiss. 

 

Not to say Stiles hasn't kissed anyone before. Or gone out on a date before. It just... hasn't been like this. Hasn't been with some older guy who's pretty perfect now that he's had time to get his life together, who cooks and laughs with little crinkles around his eyes and looks at Stiles when he trips over the table leg with some sort of strangely fond expression that makes his heart melt into his stomach. 

 

His dates have never been that smooth. Or with Derek Hale, so he guesses that might have something to do with it.

 

Is the car pulling up at his house already? It is, that's definitely his house and he still doesn't know what he's supposed to be doing. 

 

Stiles looks at Derek.

 

Derek's staring at him. His mouth is curved up at the corner, and he looks particularly indulgent, like whatever Stiles is gearing up to do, he's going to go along with it. Because Derek wants to date him. Like, more than once - he said so already. So.

 

Fuck it, then.

 

Stiles leans over the console and presses his lips to Derek's. It's not exactly the hottest kiss he's ever given, but it's warm and soft, and Derek's mouth tastes a little like butter. His stubble feels scratchy underneath his palm, and when he pulls away, Stiles is wide eyed, blinking, still leaning over.

 

Derek stares at him a moment, and then pulls him over the console and properly into his lap at the same time as he claims another kiss.

 

It's - awkward, really, so very awkward, because the Camaro is not a car made for two grown and frankly not-very-small men making out on top of each other, and his knees are more than a little cramped, bruising, probably. But if you ask Stiles in that moment his only response will be, "what knees?" Because Derek is kissing him like he doesn't want to get away, with less finesse than he's done anything else the entire night - though that could just be that Stiles is too excited to take it slow and heady. 

 

He makes an embarrassing sort of noise when Derek pulls back, Stiles' lower lip still caught between his teeth a moment before he trails wet, open mouthed kisses down his jaw and neck. "Oh -  _oh,_ my, Derek - " he's panting, it's - he can't breathe, why is this so intense, he's never even had to  _explain_ stubble burn before, what will people think - oh,  _god,_ what does  _Derek_ want them thinking, the hickey he's putting on his neck must be monumental, he's -

 

He's going to stop it, he has to -

 

Has to actually tug at Derek's hair instead of just pulling in a way that makes him growl a little, and it's nice, and he's - he can't -

 

A loud horn beeping makes Derek pause, and then a low chuckle bursts from his mouth, hot breath over Stiles' still dampened-and-bruising skin making him shiver. "Your father's not pleased."

 

Horn beeping. That's - okay, so his dad is home from his shift. Great. That's why the headlights are blinding him.

 

See? He can totally focus. Stiles has  _got_ this.

 

"Right." He says, and then, panics, "Right, oh,  _shit,_ yeah I'm just gonna - "

 

Derek looks infinitely amused, but he opens his car door and causes Stiles to stumble right out, laughing warmly again.

 

Stiles would be pretty indignant about Derek laughing at him when he's falling on his ass, but he can see the hard line of Derek being  _pretty pleased_ with him through his jeans, and figures,  _let's give him this one._

 

He's earned it.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://pr1nc3ssp34ch.tumblr.com).


End file.
